Cutting
by Rabble Rouser
Summary: Rand shows that devotion and love unending is not necessarily a pretty state.


Cutting

By Rabble Rouser

DATE:  December 19, 2003

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:  This is a companion piece to Djinn's "Mazes of a Nightmare" and contains mild spoilers for that story. You should really read that first on FanFiction Net (Story ID: 1633600). You won't be sorry. Imvho one of the best stories posted this year and my personal favorite. Warning--Not the usual Rand, though one I could see given canon. Thanks to Djinn for the inspiration and the beta.

© 2003 Rabble Rouser

v v v

You walk back and forth across the length of the transporter console at Starfleet Central. Pacing the cage. Waiting. The Enterprise is coming home. Home. Home. He'll be back. 

You've never lost touch. You kept up a correspondence with Uhura, with Chapel. It shames you to admit it, but you probably wouldn't have made the effort except it was the one way to keep up with him. They know what you want to hear: "No, he hasn't made any serious attachments. The only female in his life is the cold titanium-hulled beauty who can never love him back." You clasp your hands behind your back. Your stance, the way you stride across and back, is in imitation of him. It's an invocation, a prayer--one you've used whenever you need to draw some strength from him—from what he means to you.

You knew him too long. Loved him too long. Even having served with him less than a year.

The thing that was dangerous was that he was the first man to take you seriously, who paid attention for reasons other than seduction for all that it was clear he desired you. In your head, you've compiled a whole database on him. Uhura, Chapel, they have no idea. You know, despite Christine's devotion to Spock, despite her more outward, overt longing, she'd be appalled. 

You stalk him. You stalk his life even without him there in front of you as an excuse for obsession. You found out everywhere he ever served. Sought out everyone at all involved with him, arranged seemingly casual encounters to ferret out everything about him you could. If they hated him, you'd say you resented him, and even through the jealousy, the bitterness and bitchiness of someone who didn't measure up to his standards, you could translate it, make it yield truth. You even had a damn affair with Bobby Ryan because he was his cousin and that got you a chance to meet Kirk's mother.

You imagine you know him better than Spock does, better than McCoy. Which is what scares you—because a part of you whispers you don't measure up and never will. That if he loved you, he would have found a way to you. You know what he loves, of course. Brainy. Reserved. And brave. And you're none of those things really. 

You know you disappointed him when you went for the transporter rating rather than officer's candidate school.

"What are you afraid of, Rand?" 

You wanted to deny you were afraid of anything. But you couldn't get the words out as he locked onto and held your gaze, his head shaking slightly. The gesture meant so much. Both that he couldn't understand why you wouldn't take the opportunity he was handing you but also that the fear meant you weren't ready to move on after all. He compressed his lips. As if he wanted to press, but wouldn't. Because he knew you well enough to know it was useless? Or because it would mean getting too close?

You don't know why he thought you'd want to be an officer. When you saw first-hand the toll it took on him? Why would you ever want to be that isolated, that lonely? You don't want that; you like how everyone calls you Janice. You hurry to put subordinates on a first-name basis. You don't want to be Rand. You don't want to jump awake, sweating because you made a decision that got someone killed. You'd prefer to be a yeoman, prefer being a transporter chief, where competence means knowing your job cold, studying the tech, and spending every minute getting better. Not in trying to understand people, motivate them, inspire them, change them, lead them. 

Use them.

There are times you can hate him. Hate him because he so easily made you fall in love with him and it only made you work harder. Like a maniac really. As if everything counted on you. That's how he made you feel. As if you were important. 

They're here.

They begin filling your transporter pad and because it's being controlled on the Enterprise's end you have nothing to do but watch. Strain your eyes looking to see if you can discern him by his shape before he even fully materializes. Dozens transport in, lift heavy satchels and cases and stream by you. Their eyes scuttle off you. You don't know these people. It surprises you and pains you even though it shouldn't. So many rotate, transfer out. Like you did. And people died. Even though the E was a lucky ship. Lucky in having him. Survived intact where so many didn't--the Intrepid, the _Constellation_, the _Defiant_, the _Excalibur_, the _Exeter_. Half the deep-space fleet in the years Kirk held command were lost with all hands. You knew people on all those ships. Not well enough to truly grieve, but enough to cause pain. 

Then you see a shape shimmer into being and you gasp. Your assistant beside you asks what's wrong and you snap at him, give an angry wave without looking at him. You stop pacing. You almost stop breathing. And then the beam lets him go and you hiss under your breath. There's a brunette beside him. He's smiling at her, laughing with her. Picking up her bags as well as his. But before that he put his hand at the small of her back, then moved it up to her shoulder and squeezed. You see all this without taking in who you're seeing beside him. And then she turns toward you with a gentle, welcoming smile and you wish you could make her drop dead with a look. 

Chapel. Christine Chapel. Nurse...Christine...Chapel. With Kirk. 

The horrifying thing is that you could see it. You know what he likes. You never expected him to see it in her, but you know Christine. That she's complex, goes where you cannot follow, emotionally, intellectually. That she's just as fiercely protective as he is, just as single-minded in her devotions. Someone who can keep up with him. 

Devoted. Yes, she was supposed to be devoted to Spock. You never expected that to change. You thought she was like you, that she would never let go, never move on, never notice, never see anyone else. You bitterly wonder if you helped. Helped her see.

She's right there then, hugging you, and you let her because you are slow, can't react. Then you stiffen and she pulls away and looks at you. Then back at Kirk. It obviously dawns on her what you've seen. What you've intuited from so little. Kirk looks at you both and sighs. Then moves to her and puts his arm around her waist. Pulling her in. His eyes meet yours and you look away from the message in them: Accept this. Accept us. It's the way it is. 

But inside you're screaming. No! You force a smile. You won't be petty. You won't let them see how much it hurts. Stupid. So stupid. Years. So stupid. You feel your whole body flushing. But you put your hands behind your back and your body straightens. Even now, strangely enough, you're drawing strength from him, from what he means and what you learned from him. That you can face things and not break. Be strong. He expected it from you so long that you've come to expect it from yourself.

"Christine, you've changed." You gesture toward your own hair—then hers. Your tone is bright, jovial, but you feel your mouth turning down, tightening. She knows you don't mean her hair. She takes your hand and despite your best intentions, you flinch away. You take an unworthy satisfaction at the pain in her eyes. It occurs to you that she thinks you're friends, close friends, and that this is going to hurt her. And you're glad. Because you know you are going to hurt for a long time. And you know that even if you do love her in your way, even more than she does you, that even if plunging a cold knife through what connects you will bleed, will be agonizing, will cause more damage to you than to her, right now that feels good. Is worth it. 

Except you don't want to play it out in front of him.

So you play it light, knowing you're not fooling either of them. You can see it in how she seems to be blinking back tears and how Kirk's grip on her waist seems to get tighter, more protective. He finally ends it, as you knew he would. He is always in control. And you watch them as they turn and walk away.

Together.

Away from you.

The End 

_Please write to me and let me know what you thought._

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